


Wanting More

by TellMeNoAgain



Series: Holiday Ficmas 2020 [4]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Dominance, Hypervigilant Peter Parker, M/M, Submission, Subspace
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-19
Updated: 2020-12-19
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:00:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28177284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TellMeNoAgain/pseuds/TellMeNoAgain
Summary: They have this thing they do, post-mission, to help shut off their nervous twitching and over-reacting, to bring them back to baseline.They have this thing they do, together, where Peter wantsmoreand Bucky gives it.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Peter Parker
Series: Holiday Ficmas 2020 [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2046380
Comments: 22
Kudos: 129





	Wanting More

**Author's Note:**

  * For [personaljunkdrawer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/personaljunkdrawer/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Decanter](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29206911) by [personaljunkdrawer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/personaljunkdrawer/pseuds/personaljunkdrawer). 



> Happy Ficmas, personaljunkdrawer! I hope I captured some of that honey-flavored sensory subspace you regularly give me, whenever I need it.
> 
> Remember, wherever you are and whatever else is going on, that some people accept you for whoever you are, and love all the bits of yourself you share.
> 
> Special thanks to betas jf4m and mindwiped, and the cheerreading crew in the TW section of the WB Discord server!

“You need me?” asked Bucky in an almost inaudible undertone, leaning in.

“In the _worst_ way,” breathed Peter. God Bless superhearing, the rest of the norms in the crew compartment wouldn’t be able to hear them, and given Captain America’s complete lack of facial expression change, he also wasn’t able to eavesdrop at that distance. “I’m jangling- I’m so- they’re just going nuts, everything is too much and I-” 

“When we land,” promised Bucky. 

Bucky knew. Bucky- he understood, about nerves, about the whole world being unsafe, sometimes, for Peter’s senses, the way they’d overwhelm him after a long battle like today. The way they’d stretch him tight and he’d have to swing- swing higher and higher, above the City, and then nest up, hidden and safe in some corner somewhere, the instincts of the spider warring with the mental stress and exhaustion of the man.

Bucky had faulty programming that still sprang to life, from time to time, and blared alarms at him, and it was the closest fucking thing to having a head full of spider, it was the closest fucking thing. Close enough that he knew how to- how to settle Peter. Or he hadn’t, but he’d been willing to try, more willing than anybody to put the effort in even when it got- _weird_. Not right. Not something Peter or Bucky should want.

Another thing that set them apart- the spider in Peter’s head and the soldier in Bucky’s. Another thing that made them freaks even when surrounded by the freakshow.

Bucky hated it when he talked like that.

Thought like that.

The engines changed pitch and Peter almost sobbed, locking down on the startlement and telling his spider fiercely that they were _headed home_ and he was _almost healed already_. 

The spider, as always, didn’t listen.

Wouldn’t listen to Peter alone.

“Caught that, too, and you know what it means,” breathed Bucky, just for his ears, his bulk beside Peter’s left side a warm, solid barrier in ways nothing else could ever be. “Landing soon.”

Peter swallowed despair. _Soon_ wasn’t soon enough, not for this- not for-

“Breathe, if you can,” Bucky told just him, an oasis of calm in a sandstorm of stimuli against Peter’s taut nervous system, his awareness tick-tick-ticking between men and women and weapons and all the things that could go wrong on the carrier, every nut and bolt that wiggled and jiggled- most were turned tight but there were some that hummed in place and they were driving him nuts. All it would take would be a wrench, a wrench and an hour and he’d tighten them, he could swing outside and do it now, give himself something to _do_ to stop the-

A man coughed, _and maybe he was infected with something_ , hissed the spider in Peter’s soul, maybe he’d cough and cough and the thing would spread and Peter would already be damaged and have to fight for his life on the micro-level and _wouldn’t that be bad_ , if the nuts and bolts shearing off and leaving him vulnerable didn’t kill him, if the men and women who moved so _suddenly_ didn’t decide to attack with one of those hand gestures. If the explosives, nestled in their cartridges and packs, some of the liquid arrowheads in Clint’s quiver, would only stop _sloshing_ like that, the constant droning fear would go away, would abate, but first-

“If you can, listen for my heartbeat,” offered Bucky.

 _Yes_.

That worked, sometimes, when nothing else did.

Peter gritted his teeth and willed himself not to twitch or lash out as the plane jolted and the incredibly dangerous people trapped in this tin can with him remained unaware of their danger. 

All of the people trapped in the tin can with him, except one.

~~~

They were superheroes, not soldiers, and so when they landed outside the Pentagon, the General Staff came to them, not the other way around. Outside, on the absolutely empty lawn, there was less frantic painful fear for his spider to produce. He noted the sound of the grass shifting in the wind, the way the antennas on the building creaked as they were whipped gently by the wind. He noted the heartbeats of every man and woman present, heard the suggestions in the earbuds and smirked at the way the hard-bitten powerful men at the top of the world _listened to the analysts_ and parroted the words they felt were best said. 

The mask rubbed his face when he smirked, and he noted that, too.

Bucky stayed on his left, a lurking, still presence- stillness being the soldier’s number one defense, stillness and control, absolute control of self in the face of a world that moved so quickly and chaotically. Bucky breathed, and Peter concentrated on the whoosh of air into and out of those lungs, the way the stomach churned acid, the slight tremble in the human fingertips that vibrated against the leather of his gloves. Peter concentrated on everything and nothing, but especially, Peter concentrated on Bucky, the most dangerous threat of all the men and women assembled, and the one more likely to provide assistance. The one who actually offered relief.

“Soon,” breathed Bucky, flattening the ess to ensure it would not carry, his lips barely parted.

Peter twitched his acknowledgement, the only way he could convey _not soon enough_ as well as _please, Bucky_ and _I don’t want to hurt anyone_ and _I don’t want to hurt anymore_ between one heartbeat and the next.

Bucky took a fast breath, and Peter knew the message had been received and processed and Bucky understood, when Bucky did _absolutely nothing_ but stand still, and breathe.

Mr. Stark turned, his mask face up and his face streaked with sweat, eyes heavy with exhaustion. “Okay, we’re done here, I’m calling it. Hotel? Hotel? Hotel?” he asked the assembled Avengers, making no effort to actually make eye contact with anybody before declaring, “Yes, yes, and yes, FRIDAY, could you-?”

“On it, Boss,” said the tinny voice of FRIDAY.

KAREN whispered, cautiously, carefully, “I told her, she’ll make sure it’s right, Peter.”

Bucky’s fingertips twitched again, refocusing Peter’s attention on the man. 

“KAREN’s on it,” he whispered, and listened to the quick shudder that passed through the man’s body, the way his heart raced and then settled, calm, calm, calm again.

Nice to know Bucky was looking forward to their post-mission routine, as well.

~~~

Peter’s stomach was roiling, his muscles trembling, by the time Mr. Stark said, “Best FRI could do, Underoos, basement level- you okay with that?”

“I prefer it,” said Peter with a weak chuckle. “Best way to block out the noise of a city that’s not as good as New York, you know?”

“Attaboy,” said Mr. Stark, passing him the keycard and turning away, his suit probably the only thing holding him up.

Bucky had already turned and left. He’d heard the instructions KAREN whispered to Peter, had heard them and no doubt would be waiting there, keycard to a room he wouldn’t use in one of his many suit compartments. While they did their thing, KAREN would cozy up to the security system and make it look like he’d entered the room and wouldn’t leave until morning. 

Details. Everything in life was about the details.

And Peter needed a break from them _fiercely_.

By the time he reached the basement floor- second sub-basement, to be exact, the sound of the city and traffic above were so muffled he could have fallen to his knees and wept. The woosh of water through pipes as three people in rooms above flushed the toilet at nearly the same time drowned out the room somewhere with the sink dripping water erratically. Four people splashed in the hotel pool. A man and a silent woman had sex near the top- she was silent but her pulse was thrumming with jubilant excitement so Peter could ignore it, could ignore all those details, she wasn’t in danger, and neither was he.

He shouldn’t have been surprised to find Bucky had let himself into the room- the man was nothing if not a secret agent FIRST, actual person SECOND, but he was. Bucky never assumed, never-

“No pressure, I can leave,” growled Bucky, as Peter kicked the door shut carefully behind him, already instructing KAREN to peel back the suit and leave him naked, slinking off to a side table where she’d begin work and repairs in a quiet, happy, welcome hum all night.

“Don’t,” Peter said simply, stepping forward, his bare feet kissing the thick carpeted floor on the first step.

“You ready to reset?” Bucky asked, stalking forward and then hovering inches apart, _fuck_ him, to hover like that, inches from Peter, inches from giving the relief he was so intent on offering. He’d never _just take_ , would he? Stubborn asshole.

“Yes,” agreed Peter, his voice confident even as limbs began to tremble.

“Stevie’s up by Stark on the top floor, pool’ll mask us,” Bucky said.

“Oh, good,” replied Peter weakly, his whole head feeling lighter with every breath, with every pound of Bucky’s heart, with every answering echo of Peter’s. 

“You want this, _you show me_ ,” growled Bucky, his sharp blue eyes intent on Peter’s face, calm and controlled, methodical and expectant.

Slowly, so slow it felt like time itself stretched, Peter sank to his knees, his chin tilting his face as he sank, so that he continued to look up at Bucky. The carpet was gentle against his knees, kissing them as softly as it had kissed his bare feet.

Bucky’s fingers, pressing into the long column of his throat, were decidedly less gentle, but that was vibranium, after all. It wasn’t known for its warmth.

Strength, durability, grace, and power, yes.

Warmth?

No.

The spider latched onto the fingers on his neck and wailed, _Assassin, assassin, death, dismemberment, danger, destruction_.

One focus, one singular focus, as all other fears faded to whisps and tendrils, unnoted and unnoticed. The world began to blur at all edges, as Bucky’s fingers pressed ungently, leaving bruises that were decidedly not clumsy. Imprints and impressions of the man’s intent, in fact. Notification to Peter’s soul of what would follow. Peter’s breath rasped in and out, and he knelt, head tilted up, feeling the cloudiness of what was to come begin to gather.

“Mine,” said Bucky lowly.

“Yours,” agreed Peter heavily, his tongue thick in his mouth, the word sticky and swollen long before it was ever attempted.

“Whatever I want,” said Bucky.

“Whatever,” repeated Peter hazily, so far gone, so fast, the adrenaline shooting through his body and both his mind and the spider’s instincts concentrated on the impossible task of appeasing the man who held their life in his hand.

“I want _you_ ,” said Bucky roughly, lowly.

“Yours,” Peter managed, sinking even farther, struggling to produce sound, to give the other man the reassurance he needed.

_Death_ , screamed his spidersenses. _Move!_

Peter concentrated on the burning knowledge that Bucky was the only thing of importance in the whole of his world, allowing the spider’s instinctive response and his own passionate belief in the man to war in his head until the whole world narrowed to the carpet under his knees and the bruising crush of the fingertips at his throat, the shifting of Bucky’s weight and the cataloging of every one of Bucky’s strengths and weaknesses. 

Time slowed strangely, in fits and starts, until Bucky crooned above him, “There you are.”

_There he was. There. Peter. Bucky. Was. There? Yes._

“Come with me, Pete,” said Bucky lowly, dropping Peter’s throat to take a step backwards.

Peter collapsed forward, limbs clumsy in the effort to _move_ , to _follow, forward. For Bucky._

“C’mere, doll,” coaxed Bucky in a quiet, still voice. Peter marveled once again at the relaxation evident in the tone, the way Bucky’s voice went soft and burred when they- when this- at times like this. He marveled, eyes half-lidded, as he followed Bucky to the couch, his limbs awkward and stumbly, and he was _never_ awkward, never had troubles with balance or coordination, never- the spider always-

-but he was ignoring the spider. The spider was screaming _danger_ about Bucky, and Bucky alone, and Bucky was the safest thing- the only thing- in the world.

Bucky planted his boots firmly as he sat, wide spaced, and Peter slid between them like a hand into a glove- the fit between those powerful, uniform-clad thighs seemed made for the space his body took up. “Good,” said Bucky, as Peter collapsed against his chest, feeling the lack of tension in the other man’s muscles, the laxness of all that strained control, the way his breathing shifted so effortlessly to match Peter’s deep lungfuls.

They breathed together, sharing air, for several long moments, before Bucky lifted a heavy hand and ran it up and down Peter’s naked spine, so soothing, melting the last of the tension and making Peter mewl and whine almost imperceptibly quietly. Almost silently, except for the superior hearing that was trained on Peter and Peter’s reactions alone.

“Do what I say,” said Bucky, sliding that hand up to wrap around hanks of Peter’s hair and pull him back roughly from the gentle puddle of willing flesh he had allowed himself to become.

“Yesss,” hissed Peter, eyes closing fully.

“Give yourself to me,” demanded Bucky, the fingers tightening, the bursts of pain causing shivers that faded below the skin and sunk into Peter’s bones.

“You,” agreed Peter, his mouth hanging as slack and open as the rest of his body.

“You would, you will,” murmured Bucky, the cold metal of his other hand tracing designs on Peter’s side and hip, skimming the surface of Peter’s body until it could twist and pinch at a nipple, a fascination Peter didn’t understand as they weren’t a touch-point for him, didn’t cause him to shake or tremble as he knew they made Bucky _feel_. But Bucky liked them, he knew, Bucky loved to touch and pinch and fondle and caress, to suck and thumb and bite them. He mumble things into them and against them, words like _best, mine, soft, sweet, give,_ and even, occasionally, _love_.

Peter shivered in his grasp, remembering the last one and the way it always dropped down so deep, sliding underneath his skin with thick hooks that anchored Peter ever more firmly in this man, in who this man was becoming to him, this man out of all the men in the world.

“Up, up and over,” said Bucky, with no urgency in his voice. Calm certainty, placidness, so relaxed and unhurried, so at contrast with the monster his spider knew the man to be.

In his own time, Peter breathed, lifted himself up, and settled, draped over one of Bucky’s thighs, his chest and head and arms supported by the soft crisp cotton canvas of the couch, his dick hanging limply against Bucky’s thigh. He sighed as Bucky rubbed two hands along his body, one up and down his back and the other possessively across his ass. The hand on his back settled into a forearm resting along the small of his back.

The hand caressing his ass settled between his cheeks.

“What do you want?” asked Bucky quietly, the sound of the words soothing, slipping into that soft place in Peter’s mind and heart easily, disturbing him not at all, leaving neither ripple nor jolting wave in their wake.

“You,” Peter told him, the single word slurred against the couch’s cushion.

“Me,” said Bucky simply, agreeing calmly as his fingers tapped against Peter’s entrance as if seeking permission.

Peter pushed back against them, just a hitch of his hips, and smiled sloppily as Bucky’s breathing went wild for three shallow breaths. 

“You can have me,” Bucky assured him, digging in his uniform for the lube Peter knew he carried, a small tube of gel-like silicone that had _staying power_ that they had tested more than once. 

Peter nuzzled against the couch, feeling how crisp and clean it was against his cheek as he relaxed into Bucky’s want, Bucky’s desire, the press of Bucky’s needy finger against his entrance narrowing his world down to slick and rough and wet and cold, the metal finger foreign and welcome and homecoming and safety and somewhere, deep inside where the spider still shook with paroxysms of fury and fear, _deeply_ riveting. It was easy to focus his entire attention on the slick slide of it into his body while the spider screamed about the safety of this act, threatening dire things and demanding he move.

He wouldn’t.

Bucky didn’t want that.

Peter didn’t want that.

The spider was _wrong_.

One finger became two, as Peter hummed with something close to desire, feeling the rough cloth of Bucky’s uniform pantleg against his stomach as Bucky took his time dipping his fingers into and out of Peter’s body. Bucky hummed back, a gruff sound that rumbled on and on, as he explored and delved and enjoyed, chuckling every time Peter chirped regretfully as the finger left, gasping when Peter bucked forward, shocking them both just a little. 

“You’re hard for me,” Bucky said quietly, that same slow pace he’d set the first time winding through the rough words.

“You,” agreed Peter, lifting his head and arching his back just a bit as the desire to buck forward hit again, and he gave into it, his body rippling against Bucky’s thigh as Bucky’s fingers worked those sensitive, sweet spaces inside him, stretching and pressing in a steadily-growing rhythm.

“You want me,” Bucky told him, as if identifying for Peter the sensations Peter was feeling.

Which was fair, sometimes Peter got a little too confused, down in this soft space, this safe space that Bucky made for him.

“I want you,” Peter told him, marveling at the thick need that choked his voice, marveling that he could be this thing that wanted so much of only one thing, his whole body and soul and mind united for once in one single thought, _more, Bucky, more._

“You want more?” asked Bucky, and those were the words- Peter gasped and then panted. Those were the words! The words! 

Peter whimpered wordlessly as Bucky chuckled and asked again, “Pete, you want _more?”_

Peter bucked- he couldn’t help it, his dick pressing insistently against Bucky’s thigh as his eyes squeezed tightly shut. Yes, yes, he wanted- he wanted those words, that _more_ , yes!

“Aww, doll,” teased Bucky, his voice low and unhurried, burred rough again with desire, his fingers dipping in and out in that same suddenly-maddening rhythm, “you have to ask, Pete, you know my rules, I need-”

The single word burst from Peter’s lips thoughtlessly, “More!”

Bucky chuckled, a happy noise that rolled across the landscape of Peter’s world and made him grin before his mouth went slack again with need and want and the sensation of Bucky’s fingers in his ass, rubbing wherever they wanted to go, rubbing right where the spider screamed not to let them.

“You’re all stretched and sloppy and sweet, Pete,” grumbled Bucky lowly. “I’m going to keep you here for a while yet, play my fill, but _I will give you more_ , deal?”

“Please,” begged Peter.

“I will give you more,” Bucky crooned reassuringly. “I will. Deal?”

“Deal,” gasped Peter, hips hitching forward in a series of fast humps as Bucky’s fingers rubbed circles against his prostate.

“So sweet for me, doll,” praised Bucky, and then he hummed again, a pleased, happy, relaxed noise, and turned his attention to his hand and the smooth glide of it into Peter’s flesh. It was clear he savored the little noises Peter made, the quick twitches of Peter on his lap, all of the responses Peter gave him, when he encouraged more and more to escape as the minutes rolled by. Peter was limp and whimpering, tears gathering at the edges of his eyes only to leak out, his lips dry and cracked from his slack-jawed expression, before Bucky shifted his legs and said, “You have been _so good_ for me, doll.”

Yes. This was all _good_ , good for Bucky, good for Peter- good, solidly good, the slide of those fingers inside his flesh.

“A present, Peter, feel _this_ ,” Bucky said, as if offering something he was sure would only delight. The fingers pressed against Peter’s prostate and began to quake, small shimmering vibrations that made Peter’s whole body shiver and shake, his hips pumping furiously against Bucky’s cloth-covered thigh, whining at the roughness of the uniform against his cock but unable to stop the motion. 

“I knew it would destroy you,” whispered Bucky, sounding smug and satisfied.

“B-bucky!” cried Peter, his body hunching back, hips working towards his release, the limp pleasure of earlier wrought up in ever-tightening twists of nerves and veins, blood pumping, tension building.

“Ahhhhhh,” breathed Bucky, “there you go, there you are, but not yet, doll. Not yet.”

And the fingers _stopped_.

Peter sobbed, confused and befuddled and weak and twisted so _tight_.

“Here,” said Bucky, the arm resting on the small of Peter’s back sliding under his stomach, lifting him up easily, cradling him as the other man stood in one smooth, powerful motion. “The table, Peter.”

Peter couldn’t pry open his eyes, but a table was pressed against his hips and he was bent forward, draped over it. 

“I’m going to give you more, but I want to feel you like this, too, Peter, taste you,” Bucky told him in a warm growl. “Do you still want it, do you want more?”

_Those words._

“More,” sobbed Peter, and then, desperately, grasping for what little language he could find, “ _Please, Bucky_.”

The chuckle, the sound of pure happiness and delight, and then Bucky’s fingers prying him open again, the angle different, the cool hard firmness of the wood so very different as a cushion than the soft crispness of the couch.

The fingers delved, again, as Bucky’s mouth began to lick and bite at his asscheek, lips mouthing firmly, bites never quite enough to be painful, never quite enough to do more than make Peter feel devoured. The mouth lavished attention and appreciation while the fingers delved and sought and, prize found, rubbed and teased and vibrated again, bringing Peter again to that brink, humping forward eagerly, his cock swinging wildly, seeking-seeking-seeking-

“Settle,” gasped Bucky, the fingers withdrawing, pulling his mouth back. He settled, too- settled his hip against Peter’s backside and began unfastening his uniform with quiet fingers that slipped across the metal zippers slickly and made him curse softly. Peter grinned. The lube really was _good_.

“Laughing at me,” huffed Bucky fondly, and the fondness felt so good that Peter preened.

“I’ll show you,” grunted Bucky, but he was proud, and fond, and so Peter grinned against the table, lifting his head for a moment so that Bucky could see it.

“Oh, I see you,” acknowledged Bucky, “and you had better brace, because nothing makes me want to give you more of me than that little smile peeking out so slyly, Pete.”

Peter couldn’t help grinning even wider at that- until the thick head of Bucky’s cock lined up and his mouth went slack with desire.

“I know,” soothed Bucky, as he fucked into Peter’s body, breaking apart any resistance with the thick head of his cock and the slick slide of the lube, “I know, doll, I know,” he crooned, as Peter made wounded noises and begging noises and wasn’t sure where the desire began and the pain ended and _only Bucky_ could make him feel like this, could reel him so tightly wound and needy and then _shatter_ him on his cock.

Peter panted and gasped and choked, as Bucky fucked in ruthlessly, giving Peter all the _more_ he wanted and extra besides. “Shhh,” soothed Bucky’s voice, but his dick and his driving thrusts only wound Peter more and more tightly, more and more tightly until Peter’s entire body was bucking in time with Bucky’s thrusts, draped weakly across the table, mouth wide open to grab what oxygen was available for use in the air around them.

“You come, Pete, you let it all out, you let me wring you dry, doll,” ordered Bucky, and that set off the sparks in Peter’s systems, everything going taut and tight as he choked and gasped and came like that, cheek rolling on his outflung arm, the hard table under his chest and Bucky’s hands on his hips, fucking into him even harder for a long minute, riding him through his orgasm and into the fucked-out zone just beyond it before he gave a long, low groan and spurted his own release, deep inside Peter.

“Bucky,” gasped Peter, when he could open his eyes, but before he could push himself up.

“Yeah, doll?” asked Bucky, panting himself, hands grinding into the flesh of Peter’s hips and ass roughly.

“ _More,_ ” begged Peter.

“Yeah, I’ll give you more,” chuckled Bucky. “But first, I want to feel you like this, taste you.”

And then he slid out, a smooth motion that made Peter gasp and moan, his hole fluttering at the loss, and Bucky knelt, and gave Peter _more._

**Author's Note:**

> Enjoyed writing it, enjoyed re-reading it- hope you'll drop a line and tell me you enjoyed it, too!


End file.
